


Paper Airplanes

by emungere



Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-15
Updated: 2004-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 15:08:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2777675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emungere/pseuds/emungere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aya drives down the rain-slick highway, holding on to his calm with gritted teeth and hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel. His jaw, cheekbones, eye sockets ache from the pounding Botan gave him. There is a growing lump on the back of his skull where he hit the pavement. He reaches up to touch it, unable to leave it alone. There is blood matted into his hair. Flakes of it come off on his fingers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paper Airplanes

Aya drives down the rain-slick highway, holding on to his calm with gritted teeth and hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel. His jaw, cheekbones, eye sockets ache from the pounding Botan gave him. There is a growing lump on the back of his skull where he hit the pavement. He reaches up to touch it, unable to leave it alone. There is blood matted into his hair. Flakes of it come off on his fingers.

Botan sits next to him, silent for once, folding paper airplanes.

Aya doesn't have to watch. After a day in the man's company, he knows how the sounds correlate to the movements. The hiss of skin against paper, nails against already knife-sharp creases, the wet sound as he licks his fingers.

"Do you have to do that?" Dammit. Aya stares fixedly at the road, trying to pretend he'd stayed quiet, as he should have.

"Do what?"

Wet black asphalt, reflective road paint, everything cast in the amber-orange of the streetlights.

Hand on his shoulder.

"Aya? Do what?"

"Nothing."

He can see Botan reflected in the windshield. Glances between the mostly empty road and Botan's hands, careful and precise in every motion.

Botan licks along one fold. Aya looks away.

"It helps hold the creases."

"It's a stupid weapon."

Botan shrugs. "Hidaka's is stupider. And it's kept me alive so far."

He tosses the newly formed airplane, and, against every law of physics, it bounces off the windshield and flies back towards him. He catches the tip between his lips, and the body of it droops like one of Yohji's cigarettes.

Aya remembers how Botan's mouth felt under his fist, soft and yielding. Remembers Botan's body pinning him to the ground, their hips grinding together with every movement, every blow. The sickening thud of pavement against bone, bone against flesh. The realization that Botan was as hard as he was.

He thought Botan would say something, but he hasn't. He gave Aya directions to his apartment and has barely spoken since. Aya is following the directions because he doesn't know what else to do. Botan said something about dry clothes. Aya wasn't really listening. He was trying not to adjust himself too obviously.

Botan takes the airplane from his mouth and taps it against his lips. His tongue comes out to wet the point.

Aya reaches over and snatches it out of his hand, rolls down the window and throws it, crumpled and broken, into the night. He jerks the steering wheel as wind-driven rain lashes the side of his face. The car is suddenly trying to skid.

He fights for control, and they end up on the side of the road, car skewed and traffic honking as it passes them by.

His pulse is throbbing in his neck, in his hands where they are locked on the steering wheel. Icy rain stings his skin.

Botan leans deliberately across him, hand on his thigh, to roll up the window. Then he turns the car off, still leaning into Aya's space, looking up at him as the engine noise dies.

"Aya."

He realizes he's staring. Fingers in his hair, gentle across the lump on the back of his head. Botan straightens up and runs a thumb across his jaw.

"You should have let me drive. I didn't know I'd hurt you that badly."

"You didn't."

Slight smile, patent disbelief. Aya almost has his eyes closed now, and he's leaning into Botan's touch. Hand cupping his cheek. Warm breath across his mouth. He licks his lips just as Botan kisses him.

Mouths open, melting heat, so much gentler than he expected. Botan's hand moves up his thigh, pressing between his legs, and he breaks the kiss to suck in air. Finds himself staring into blue-grey eyes.

Botan smiles. "Drive. We'll be at my place in five minutes."

Aya swallows, turns the key in the ignition, and pulls back out onto the highway. He drives with one broad hand resting between his legs, trying not to thrust against it, counting the seconds until they get there.

There is only a moment of shock when the building comes in sight and everything becomes real. He parks on the street. Looks at Botan, who tightens his grip. Aya arches into his hand.

He doesn't know when his eyes closed, but he feels the cessation of heat and realizes that Botan is gone--seconds before his door is pulled open and he is pulled out and into a hard embrace. He hears the car door slam and trusts that Botan has locked it because he can't bring himself to care enough to check.

Everything from car to apartment door is a blur of touches, hands on his skin, under his shirt. He hopes there was no one else in the elevator when Botan was sucking on his neck.

Door open, inside, closed behind them. His wet shirt peeled off over his head. Botan touching him like he has a right to his body now.

He's really going to do this. Give in, give up. For an hour or two. It doesn't mean he's going back to Weiss. It only means he's a sick fuck who gets turned on by any touch from another body, even when that other body is holding him down and making him bleed.

He got the worst of it, and every touch to his face hurts, every kiss finds another bruise. He doesn't care. Botan's hands find the button of his pants and pull them down. Hot hands on his thighs, on his ass, pulling him close and then turning him to face the wall.

Rough breath on his neck. Something slick smeared across his opening, pressing into him as he presses back against it.

"Aya--"

Her name. Empty hospital bed, cross carved into it. No.

"Shut up."

Elbow in hard muscle. Botan's pained grunt behind him.

Thick cock opening him up, arching, straining. Silence between them that he almost regrets. Zipper and rough wool against his ass and thighs, wet fabric clinging to his skin.

Botan thrusts into him, passage barely eased by too little lube, always on the edge of pain. Fist around his cock, jerking him off fast, so fast, and his head falls back against Botan's shoulder. The thrusts are slow and measured, the hand on his cock feverish. He comes first, with Botan still fucking him, pushing him into the wall, arm around his chest, finishing at last with harsh breaths and words that Aya does his best not to hear.

They are both panting as Botan turns him. Aya's legs feel weak. It hits him as Botan pulls him close that he can't remember when he ate last. When he slept.

His shirt is already gone. The pants, sodden and tight, are harder. He's not sure how he went from standing in Botan's arms to being helped out of the last of his clothes. He doesn't care. It doesn't matter.

"I have to go," he mutters, not meaning it.

"I'll put your stuff in the dryer."

Hand on his back, on his arm, half guiding and half pulling him to the bedroom. Soft bed, warm covers. He watches Botan leave and wraps his arms around himself. Wonders how it could have happened so fast. Wonders what it will mean. Wonders how he could have been so stupid, why he isn't still out there looking for her. Wonders if Botan will come back.

He's almost asleep when another body slips into bed beside him. Warm against his damp skin, spooned up behind him. He tries to move away, but not as hard as he should.

Botan combs through his hair as he falls asleep, telling him they'll find her, telling him everything will be all right. Even warm and held close, even on the edge of dreams, he can't believe it. But it's nice to hear.


End file.
